'"Come buy, come buy," was still their cry.'
Goblin market, Christina Rosseti
'You like my poems? So pay for them' Wendy Cope
Gillian Clarke and Wendy Cope
Clutched slim volumes in the dark
"Our readers are our only hope"
Said Wendy Cope to Gillian Clarke
"We'll take a stand against the trendy-
Stick to printing" suggested Gillian
"It worked before" remembered Wendy
"Making Cocoa sold half a million"
"Well, nearly" Gill muttered in dismay
"If we don't fight it, noone will:
If people want us, they can pay"
Responded Wendy Cope to Gill
It seems the poets were unaware
In the world beyond the reading list
People choose from what is there:
If you're not online, you don't exist.
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Friday, January 04, 2008
An old ploughman's view
They ask me if I miss
The jangle of the horse harness
The romance of the plough team
Now that tractors rule
They don't like my reply:
"Where's the romance
In staring at a horse's arse all day?"
The jangle of the horse harness
The romance of the plough team
Now that tractors rule
They don't like my reply:
"Where's the romance
In staring at a horse's arse all day?"
Thursday, January 03, 2008
The Gospel according to Martin
I have unconsciously been slowly creating an alternative Bible as a result of my returning to Christian (and Old Testament) stories in order to explore moral questions. Some are critical and perhaps heretical, but they represent the ebst and most serious poems here.
Creation: Diminuendo
Noah's flood: The raven's tale
The Massacre of the Innocents: Collateral damage
Nativity to Crucifixion: Mary's lament
Crucifixion: Stations of the cross
Acts: The gospel according to Thomas | A Monmouthshire hedgerow
Revelation: Seven cities | The cloud of unknowing
Creation: Diminuendo
Noah's flood: The raven's tale
The Massacre of the Innocents: Collateral damage
Nativity to Crucifixion: Mary's lament
Crucifixion: Stations of the cross
Acts: The gospel according to Thomas | A Monmouthshire hedgerow
Revelation: Seven cities | The cloud of unknowing
Wednesday, January 02, 2008
The new Shakespeare
Othello
"Jealous much?" asked Iago
"Totally" replied Othello
Hamlet
Hamlet's dad was all "Woo-woo, I'm dead"
Hamlet was all "To be or not ... whatever"
The Merchant of Venice
Shylock was so into bling it was untrue.
Macbeth
Wannabe king Macbeth was like "Is this a dagger, or what?"
Lady M rolled her eyes and said "Duh!"
Then he went postal
Romeo and Juliet
Romeo met Juliet at the prom
Their clueless parents were like "No way"
"Yes way" they said, and died.
"Jealous much?" asked Iago
"Totally" replied Othello
Hamlet
Hamlet's dad was all "Woo-woo, I'm dead"
Hamlet was all "To be or not ... whatever"
The Merchant of Venice
Shylock was so into bling it was untrue.
Macbeth
Wannabe king Macbeth was like "Is this a dagger, or what?"
Lady M rolled her eyes and said "Duh!"
Then he went postal
Romeo and Juliet
Romeo met Juliet at the prom
Their clueless parents were like "No way"
"Yes way" they said, and died.
Friday, August 31, 2007
The rhymes for love
Poets are always complaining of
The scarcity of rhymes for love:
When at last push comes to shove
They reach out for the nearest 'dove'
And search the earth and skies above
For words that fit just like a glove;
So poets are always complaining of
The scarcity of rhymes for love.
The scarcity of rhymes for love:
When at last push comes to shove
They reach out for the nearest 'dove'
And search the earth and skies above
For words that fit just like a glove;
So poets are always complaining of
The scarcity of rhymes for love.
Monday, July 23, 2007
Found poetry: from a shopping centre wall
"Shopping and eating":
A good short description of
Consumerism
A good short description of
Consumerism
Monday, March 26, 2007
Monday, March 05, 2007
Dark prism
Glo they call it
Sheened like a beetle's back
High the price
Lives lost or marred
White fingers, clotted lungs
Senghenydd, Gresford, Aberfan
Steam and smoke
Fuel to power an empire
Shovelled into fireboxes and hearths
The wealth it brought
Turned to ash
The land scarred
Buildings silent
On the ridge
Grey turbines turn
The valley sleeps
Its labour done
Sheened like a beetle's back
High the price
Lives lost or marred
White fingers, clotted lungs
Senghenydd, Gresford, Aberfan
Steam and smoke
Fuel to power an empire
Shovelled into fireboxes and hearths
The wealth it brought
Turned to ash
The land scarred
Buildings silent
On the ridge
Grey turbines turn
The valley sleeps
Its labour done
Sunday, March 04, 2007
Kipling on management
"If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you"
Rudyard Kipling, If ...
If you can keep your job when all about you
Are losing theirs and rightly blaming you
If you can fake sincerity when men doubt you
And make them suffer for their doubting too
If you can apologise for keeping someone waiting
But delay them further by your lies
And seem good natured while secretly hating
The well-informed, the gentle and the wise
If you can plot - to overthrow your master
If you can snipe - without bothering to aim
If you can meet with Chaos and Disaster
And treat those two co-workers just the same
If you thrill to hear your name is spoken
Feted by dolts and praised by fools
And insist on fixing things that are not broken
Or, failing, turn around and blame your tools
If you can steal the balance of the Lotto winnings
And fire someone without giving a toss
If you can stall an initiative's beginnings
And ensure the outcome's total loss
If you can do without backbone or sinew
And leave a mess behind you when you've gone
If you can kill all honesty within you
And focus everything on Getting On
If you can reject all impulses to virtue
Poison every task with leprous touch
Ensure that all of those that hurt you
End up hurt themselves at least as much
If you can fill each unproductive minute
With a critique of how the firm is run
And forget the part that you play in it-
You will be a Manager, my son.
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you"
Rudyard Kipling, If ...
If you can keep your job when all about you
Are losing theirs and rightly blaming you
If you can fake sincerity when men doubt you
And make them suffer for their doubting too
If you can apologise for keeping someone waiting
But delay them further by your lies
And seem good natured while secretly hating
The well-informed, the gentle and the wise
If you can plot - to overthrow your master
If you can snipe - without bothering to aim
If you can meet with Chaos and Disaster
And treat those two co-workers just the same
If you thrill to hear your name is spoken
Feted by dolts and praised by fools
And insist on fixing things that are not broken
Or, failing, turn around and blame your tools
If you can steal the balance of the Lotto winnings
And fire someone without giving a toss
If you can stall an initiative's beginnings
And ensure the outcome's total loss
If you can do without backbone or sinew
And leave a mess behind you when you've gone
If you can kill all honesty within you
And focus everything on Getting On
If you can reject all impulses to virtue
Poison every task with leprous touch
Ensure that all of those that hurt you
End up hurt themselves at least as much
If you can fill each unproductive minute
With a critique of how the firm is run
And forget the part that you play in it-
You will be a Manager, my son.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
A chronological survey of the viability of coalmining at Abernant
Depth: 0 years 2006
Kites circle the landfill tip
Lorries bring waste from far away
The surface sheds make rusting homes
To workshops and short-lived stores
The tidal swarm of miners gone
Depth: 20 years 1986
Hands, deep grimed with coal,
Clap for warmth on the picket line
Shoulder to donkey-jacketed shoulder,
The strikers bar the gateway
Matched by a fluorescent line of police
The scabs arrive in a tatty bus
Met by a storm of jeers and threats
Heads bowed, they pass through
To their lonely shift
Depth: 40 years 1966
A new era of mining dawns
Well engineered, gleaming,
In fresh new buildings
A workforce trained and keen
The promise of coal
A dream of prosperity and purpose
Depth: 60 years 1946
White eyes in black faces
Blinking in the daylight
A cacophony of accents
Bevan Boys from Scotland and Kent
Leaven the local voices
Trudging out of the pit
Exhausted by victory
Depth: 80 years 1926
Striking against pay-cuts
The Feds and Communists
Are joined by their colleagues
Some, penniless, dig pirate mines
To heat their threadbare homes
Depth: 100 years 1906
Smoke fills the valley
A wailing whistle and hiss
The first train heads for Swansea
Heavy with lumps of anthracite
Waved on its way with cheers
Kites circle the landfill tip
Lorries bring waste from far away
The surface sheds make rusting homes
To workshops and short-lived stores
The tidal swarm of miners gone
Depth: 20 years 1986
Hands, deep grimed with coal,
Clap for warmth on the picket line
Shoulder to donkey-jacketed shoulder,
The strikers bar the gateway
Matched by a fluorescent line of police
The scabs arrive in a tatty bus
Met by a storm of jeers and threats
Heads bowed, they pass through
To their lonely shift
Depth: 40 years 1966
A new era of mining dawns
Well engineered, gleaming,
In fresh new buildings
A workforce trained and keen
The promise of coal
A dream of prosperity and purpose
Depth: 60 years 1946
White eyes in black faces
Blinking in the daylight
A cacophony of accents
Bevan Boys from Scotland and Kent
Leaven the local voices
Trudging out of the pit
Exhausted by victory
Depth: 80 years 1926
Striking against pay-cuts
The Feds and Communists
Are joined by their colleagues
Some, penniless, dig pirate mines
To heat their threadbare homes
Depth: 100 years 1906
Smoke fills the valley
A wailing whistle and hiss
The first train heads for Swansea
Heavy with lumps of anthracite
Waved on its way with cheers
Monday, January 29, 2007
Belonging
Some people are born where they belong,
Their home and family supply all needs:
The glow of hearthlight waxes strong
The call of the wider world recedes.
And some search long but never find
A spot where they can set up base
At last they must become resigned
To moving on from place to place
And some again, the lucky few
Are urged to leave, and to seek out
An individual rendezvous
With love's whisper or fame's shout
Belonging is a state of mind
Tranquility its foremost fruit
Sought by all, but many find
It cannot grow without a root
REPRODUCTION RIGHTS
I give permission to students to quote and reproduce this poem in assigments on condition that the poem is credited to Martin Locock and the url is stated: http://locock3.blogspot.com/2007/01/belonging.html.
Teachers and others wishing to include it in resource packs should contact me at mlocockATgmailDOTcom.
CONTEXTUAL INFORMATION
Information about the poet can be found at A Few Words (see for example Self portrait in 30 statements) and Answers to questions from Poet's Letter, and there are also author's notes about the poem.
PUBLICATION
Belonging is included in my poetry collection Carefully Chosen Words published by Carreg Ffylfan Press.
Their home and family supply all needs:
The glow of hearthlight waxes strong
The call of the wider world recedes.
And some search long but never find
A spot where they can set up base
At last they must become resigned
To moving on from place to place
And some again, the lucky few
Are urged to leave, and to seek out
An individual rendezvous
With love's whisper or fame's shout
Belonging is a state of mind
Tranquility its foremost fruit
Sought by all, but many find
It cannot grow without a root
REPRODUCTION RIGHTS
I give permission to students to quote and reproduce this poem in assigments on condition that the poem is credited to Martin Locock and the url is stated: http://locock3.blogspot.com/2007/01/belonging.html.
Teachers and others wishing to include it in resource packs should contact me at mlocockATgmailDOTcom.
CONTEXTUAL INFORMATION
Information about the poet can be found at A Few Words (see for example Self portrait in 30 statements) and Answers to questions from Poet's Letter, and there are also author's notes about the poem.
PUBLICATION
Belonging is included in my poetry collection Carefully Chosen Words published by Carreg Ffylfan Press.
Monday, January 08, 2007
Welsh traditions
Knowing more about rugby than the WRFU
Using three words when one word would do
Forming a committee to get something done
Pooling the talents and wasting each one
And when it goes wrong to everyone's shame
A nation united in apportioning blame
Using three words when one word would do
Forming a committee to get something done
Pooling the talents and wasting each one
And when it goes wrong to everyone's shame
A nation united in apportioning blame
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
Saturday, December 09, 2006
Thursday, November 23, 2006
Answers to questions from Poet's Letter
Q. What made you produce your poetry on a blog?
The main reason was my discouragement at the process of trying to get the poems into print. I had been circulating small collections among my friends, but these were by their nature limited by duplication costs and whether people had expressed an interest in receiving them. I thought that if I put them on the Web then maybe more people would find them.
Q. Do you get feedback and does this help with the creative process?
I don't get a lot of feedback, and what there is tends to be praise or dispraise rather than analysis. I do a lot of reworking as part of the initial drafting process, so by the time it's on the blog I consider it near-finished. A more common effect of feedback is to inspire further poems in response to comments suggesting altenative approaches.
Q. Has it opened your poetry up to people across the world?
Well, the world, including Britain! Most of my readers come from the US, I am a member of Moontown Cafe, a US-based poetry forum, and my closest contacts are with some of their poets.
Q. Has it led to you changing the way you write (in terms of frequency) or think about your poetry?
The immediacy of writing online has led to my writing very short poems: a lot of haiku, for example. In an informal context, a poem doesn't have to be big or clever to be worth writing, so I write more often. Although this isn't quite what you asked, reading other poetry on the Internet has taught me to value brevity and clarity above all; there is an awful lot of awful poetry out there! I think that before I was more willing to embrace complexity and obscurity: now that I am writing for real readers I consider this discourteous.
The main reason was my discouragement at the process of trying to get the poems into print. I had been circulating small collections among my friends, but these were by their nature limited by duplication costs and whether people had expressed an interest in receiving them. I thought that if I put them on the Web then maybe more people would find them.
Q. Do you get feedback and does this help with the creative process?
I don't get a lot of feedback, and what there is tends to be praise or dispraise rather than analysis. I do a lot of reworking as part of the initial drafting process, so by the time it's on the blog I consider it near-finished. A more common effect of feedback is to inspire further poems in response to comments suggesting altenative approaches.
Q. Has it opened your poetry up to people across the world?
Well, the world, including Britain! Most of my readers come from the US, I am a member of Moontown Cafe, a US-based poetry forum, and my closest contacts are with some of their poets.
Q. Has it led to you changing the way you write (in terms of frequency) or think about your poetry?
The immediacy of writing online has led to my writing very short poems: a lot of haiku, for example. In an informal context, a poem doesn't have to be big or clever to be worth writing, so I write more often. Although this isn't quite what you asked, reading other poetry on the Internet has taught me to value brevity and clarity above all; there is an awful lot of awful poetry out there! I think that before I was more willing to embrace complexity and obscurity: now that I am writing for real readers I consider this discourteous.
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